Manny couldn’t make out exactly what was being said, but the driver’s face contorted in a fury that was impossible to miss.

“Something’s fucked,” Manny said to the journalist. “I think we’re all about to lose our ride. Look!”

He pointed to the makeshift barricade, and the dozen or so soldiers who filtered past it and toward the track. The driver yelled and one of the other passengers near the front started to shout. The soldier’s face remained impassive but he put a hand on his sidearm and repeated a command Manny didn’t even need to hear. A few seconds later a soldier with a megaphone arrived and addressed Manny, Reggie, and the new refugees.

“Citizens, your vehicle has been requisitioned for medical use by the SDF. Please dismount in an orderly fashion. Injured and pregnant individuals may stay aboard.”

The man repeated the order, this time in Spanish.

Reggie’s jaw clenched. Manny could see fear in his eyes, but Reggie just nodded and started to climb down off the track. Manny did the same. Not all of the track’s passengers were as compliant. There was a lot of shouting and even a few shoving matches between the militiamen and the passengers. But in the end, the SDF got their way. Manny gathered fairly quickly that they planned to send the civilians a mile or so back, to a holding area behind the new line. That was the last fucking place in the world he wanted to be, so he approached the officer who’d been arguing with their driver.

The man had no rank insignia on his uniform, but that wasn’t unusual for militia. His fatigues were old U.S. Army issue. His armband identified him as part of the Citizen’s Front. Manny found that odd: most of the militia at this barricade were with Raza Front or the PPA. This much intermixing wasn’t normal. It pointed to a lot of casualties among the SDF.

“Disculpe, señor–” Manny started,

“Chico, no ahora mismo. I don’t have time to debate–”

“No, señor. My cousin Alejandro is with the Citizen’s Front, 9th Battalion. He was our ride. We were taking this journalist,” Manny jerked his head toward Reggie, who stood a few feet back, “…and we got caught up in the attack.”

The officer nodded, then grunted. Manny studied his face for a moment. The man was middle-aged, with a weak chin and enough extra meat on his bones to suggest that this was his first frontline duty in a while. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands clenched. His attitude softened a bit at Alejandro’s name.

“Alejandro Hernandez?”

“Yeah.”